Chapter 13

“My legs are numb. I can’t stand up.”

Fu Tingli answered irrelevantly, mystified even by her own response.

It was just like the tears streaming down her face—after spotting Kong Liyuan, she couldn’t hold them back anymore. They poured out in a torrent.

The wind scattered them everywhere.

But there was no way she was going to sob with snot and tears streaming down her face and tell this near-stranger Kong Liyuan:

I miss my mom.

“I miss my mom.”

At least, that’s what she said after wiping her tears, standing up straight, and squaring her shoulders.

She felt she was being utterly sincere.

Kong Liyuan seemed to accept it, offering a faint smile—as if marveling at how freely her emotions flowed, and how utterly willful they were.

That smile felt clearer than any she’d given before, like dust on a cliff face blown away by the wind.

Then she glanced at Fu Tingli’s tear-streaked face, now stinging from the cold gusts. She pulled a few crumpled tissues from her pocket and handed them over.

Fu Tingli didn’t stand on ceremony or complain about their state. She grabbed them and scrubbed her face.

She wiped away the tears and blew her nose.

All that was left was a reddened nose tip and eye rims, and a pair of eyes still shimmering with moisture.

Kong Liyuan stared into those eyes.

—Glistening, forlorn. But never defeated, always brimming with vitality.

Until Fu Tingli sniffled and asked her,

“You’re a big celebrity—how come the tissues in your pocket are all crumpled up?”

“No idea. Just grabbed whatever was there.” Kong Liyuan took a few seconds to reply, then shot her a glance.

“You used up every last one, and now you’re complaining?”

Fu Tingli knew she was in the wrong and balled up the used tissues.

Then she heard Kong Liyuan sigh.

She looked back; the snow was falling harder now. Kong Liyuan was still Holding the umbrella when she suddenly let out a chuckle.

“These tissues were probably the ones Rong Wu snuck into my coat pocket.”

“Snuck them in?” Fu Tingli didn’t catch on right away.

Kong Liyuan hummed in affirmation, then added out of nowhere, “Maybe she was afraid I’d miss my mom, too.”

Fu Tingli froze. She’d heard about Kong Liyuan’s mother passing away young.

But…

She didn’t even get the “but” out.

Kong Liyuan met her eyes again, then laughed amid Fu Tingli’s delayed reaction.

Her laugh was brazenly bold, reminiscent of that reckless yet languidly wild woman from California.

But it quickly shifted back to Kong Liyuan’s usual self—light and breezy as she patted the back of Fu Tingli’s head.

As if mocking her.

“Got you. How’d you fall for that?”

Snow drifted down in lazy swirls. For a moment, Fu Tingli felt like she’d finally grasped the common thread between Kong Liyuan and that woman from California.

They weren’t the same person, yet both had a core of contradiction like a swirling vortex—constantly contracting, endlessly expanding.

What enveloped them was a restlessness that could never stop, not until it faded away entirely.

Fu Tingli clenched the cigarette pack in her hand, nearly crushing it. It was missing just one cigarette, yet felt like it held a vast emptiness.

As if longing for this snowstorm to fill the void.

Hesitantly, she asked, “Have you eaten?”

Kong Liyuan paused for a long moment after the question, giving the illusion that she was weathering her own massive avalanche.

But before Kong Liyuan could answer, the two of them—standing under the billboard—were suddenly surrounded by a group of people who burned with an intensity utterly out of place in winter.

Kong Liyuan’s fans.

They zeroed in on Kong Liyuan herself right away, shoving the still-dazed Fu Tingli aside.

In the chaos, Kong Liyuan calmly met her eyes, then thrust the umbrella into her hands to shield her face.

Fu Tingli could only stand off to the side and watch as Kong Liyuan was mobbed by young women not yet twenty, chattering excitedly, sobbing uncontrollably.

It was as if she knew that glance from Kong Liyuan meant:

Don’t go anywhere.

She wasn’t sure if that was true, but she watched anyway.

She watched Kong Liyuan soothe the girls, urging them not to post about running into her here—pressing a gentle finger to her lips to calm her fans.

She watched Kong Liyuan maintain that soft smile the whole time, her eyes radiating utter tenderness as she posed for photos, signed autographs, accepted hugs, and gently comforted the teary-eyed girls over meeting her on New Year’s Day.

Fu Tingli stayed hidden under the umbrella.

That’s when she realized the 3D billboard overhead was the same one where she’d sheltered from the snow last time—the one where she’d overheard a reporter mention that “Kong Liyuan might swing by for some fan support check-in.”

Shanghai had seen two snowfalls, and she’d ended up here both times.

That reporter chasing news probably never imagined Kong Liyuan would actually show up on New Year’s Day for a fan support station check-in.

Fu Tingli hadn’t imagined it either.

So that’s why Kong Liyuan was here—for a fan support billboard check-in.

And when receiving that affection, Kong Liyuan was so gentle. Quiet and unhurried on the surface, yet careful, almost tentative.

It was like a warm yellow glow emanated from her automatically, pausing even that relentless inner restlessness for a moment.

It didn’t match the Kong Liyuan she knew at all. But Fu Tingli felt it was real—and all the more precious for it.

Fu Tingli’s thoughts tumbled in disarray as she gazed uncontrollably at Kong Liyuan in the distance.

Suddenly, she wanted to preserve this moment forever.

Once she parted from the young, fervent girls, Kong Liyuan spotted Fu Tingli immediately.

She stood under the umbrella in a bright turquoise coat by the side of the billboard, idly kicking at the thin layer of snow with her shoes, lost in thought.

“Fu Tingli.” Kong Liyuan called out to her suddenly.

Fu Tingli looked up, gazing over in bewilderment just as a snowflake landed on her nose tip.

She swiped at it haphazardly, but the chill lingered.

Then she heard Kong Liyuan say, “Take a photo for me.”

For an instant, Fu Tingli imagined her sitting in an open convertible in California.

Sunlight poured down like melted butter overhead; a massive gust carried the scent of California lupine from Kong Liyuan’s hand straight to her chest.

As the snowflake on her nose began to melt, Fu Tingli came back to herself and smiled at Kong Liyuan.

“Teacher Kong, do you really have to ask someone to take your photo now?”

Kong Liyuan pointed at the billboard. “Check-in under the billboard, then I’ll post it on Weibo later.”

Fu Tingli said “oh” and figured she wasn’t so petty that she couldn’t help with something this small. She reached out a hand.

“Give me your phone, then.”

Kong Liyuan smoothly tucked both hands into her pockets. “Use yours. Mine’s dead.”

…

“Mine too—” Fu Tingli pulled out her phone and saw it still had battery.

She really had no reason to refuse.

So she aimed her phone at Kong Liyuan standing under the billboard and asked,

“That dark patch on the mall hasn’t been fixed yet—your face’ll be missing a chunk. You okay with that?”

“It’s fine.” Kong Liyuan shook her head.

Fu Tingli nodded. “Tell me when you’re ready.”

She figured Kong Liyuan would immediately say “ready,” like the celebrity she knew—always camera-ready.

But Kong Liyuan didn’t.

Instead… she went quiet, expressionless, leaving a blank space. It reminded Fu Tingli of that night when Kong Liyuan had leaned against the car, lighting a cigarette while watching her.

That inscrutable mood pulled Fu Tingli into a long mental daze. But the pause lasted only a few seconds.

Until Kong Liyuan’s voice brought her back.

“Ready. Take it.”

The photo froze the moment, capturing this version of Kong Liyuan on Fu Tingli’s phone—just like in California.

Fu Tingli pocketed her phone, then heard Kong Liyuan ask casually, “What about those earlier photos?”

She blanked out for a bit before realizing Kong Liyuan meant the ones she’d taken in California.

As if she’d only just remembered those “incriminating” shots still in Fu Tingli’s possession.

“Deleted them.” No need to act like the villain.

“When?” Kong Liyuan sounded a little surprised.

“Huh?” Fu Tingli made something up. “Probably when I switched phones one time. They were on the old one, and then I factory reset it.”

She couldn’t admit she’d switched phones four times, migrated that album four times, and only deleted the photos a few days ago.

—Right after their first reunion, she’d decisively deleted every single one of those shots she’d failed to erase despite countless prior resolutions.

Kong Liyuan frowned.

Fu Tingli grinned mischievously instead. “Were you worried I’d lose my phone, someone else would see the photos, and then they’d blackmail you?”

She’d mulled over that question, turning it over and crushing it a hundred times; asking it now brought a dull ache to her tongue tip. She thought she knew what worried Kong Liyuan.

But Kong Liyuan suddenly smiled.

As if only now realizing the photos were gone—and finally relaxing.

Or maybe she hadn’t cared at all.

“If someone’s going to have those photos to blackmail me with…”

She told her, “I’d rather it be you.”

Fu Tingli paused, then laughed. “Too bad I already deleted them. Otherwise, scamming Teacher Kong right now wouldn’t just get me a hundred burgers.”

She thought her tone was casual enough.

Kong Liyuan, walking ahead, glanced back at her. Amid the swirling snow and the dark umbrella, those deep eyes pierced through her like an entire California summer, seizing her.

“Yeah. Too bad you already deleted them.”

But Fu Tingli, you shouldn’t have deleted them. You should have taken those photos, printed them out, slammed them in front of me, and with a cold face, made me estimate the value of these photos and California.

It’s best to blackmail me like this for the rest of my life.

But why didn’t you? Why did you delete these photos? Why didn’t you say a single harsh word to me? Why didn’t you ever tell anyone even a single thing like “I have leverage over Kong Liyuan”?

Why, even after four years have passed, do you still so honestly refrain from any evil deeds, and still have the same pair of eyes as back then?

To the point that whenever I’m gazed upon by such a pair of eyes, I’m forever absurd and mediocre.

—Kong Liyuan thought quietly and obsessively.

“No problem.” Fu Tingli casually shook her phone. “Don’t we have it again now?”

“Does this count?” Kong Liyuan didn’t seem to be asking her, because she hadn’t even waited for her to answer, and immediately answered the previous question, her voice so soft it was indistinguishable from the snow,

“I haven’t eaten. Treat me to a meal.”